


Peace, in the struggle

by AreYouSittingComfortably



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Acceptance, Comfort, Developing Relationship, Everything is Beautiful and Nothing Hurts, F/M, Finding the Moment, First Time, Hot Springs & Onsen, Love, Magic, Winter
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-06
Updated: 2014-03-06
Packaged: 2018-01-14 18:11:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1276024
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AreYouSittingComfortably/pseuds/AreYouSittingComfortably
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emma wants to capture this moment in a bottle and hold on to it. Be able to take the stopper out and pour it into a pensieve and immerse herself in this memory to remind herself that there are moments of peace, moments of magic worth living for between the fights. She doesn’t know if that kind of magic is possible, or just something she read about, once upon a time. The lines are so blurred now, it’s impossible to know what’s real and what isn’t anymore. Except this. This is real. He is real.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Peace, in the struggle

**Author's Note:**

> I don’t normally listen to music while writing, but this was heavily influenced by a road trip across Canada many years ago, during which I discovered Sarah McLachlan, so if you want a soundtrack that reflects the mood I was trying to create, see the notes at the end for my playlist.

The landscape they are passing through is beautiful, in a bleak and wintry way. All snow and rocks and hills, white and greys and silver, a land almost without colour but for the subtle hints of gold and rose on the horizon that whisper of the dusk soon to fall. Emma thinks about Canada, not that she’s ever been there, but this is how she imagined it in the days when she couldn’t stop her mind wandering from the bare walls of her cell and following the lover who’d left her and fled across the border. She shivers, trying to shake off the memories, or perhaps simply from the cold.

They’ve been travelling for days, and Emma is so tired she’s no longer sure what realm they’re in. She takes a moment to look out across the rolling hills to the mountains on the horizon, and feel the desolate grandeur of the place. It’s hauntingly beautiful, in a lost and lonely way.

“Aye,” Hook murmurs softly, “that it is.” and Emma realises she’s spoken her thoughts aloud. He’s come to a halt beside her, and is looking at her with an expression she can’t quite read but somehow seems part of the landscape.

She blinks, not knowing how to respond to his expression or to what she’s feeling, and looks away, unsure of where they’re heading in so many ways.

When she looks at him now, she doesn’t see a pirate. She sees a man who hides his feelings behind an outward veneer of over-confidence, a man who’s lost everything, but is still fighting for his happy ending, even if he isn’t sure he deserves it. She’s not sure when this happened, this shift in how she thinks of him, but even back in Neverland, when she still thought of him as a pirate, she found herself finding comfort in his presence, looking to him for reassurance.

He says nothing, but drifts closer, and when he slips his hand in hers, she doesn’t pull away.

“Tired?” he asks, his voice betraying his own exhaustion.

She nods.

“I think there may be a river beyond those trees at the foot of the hills, let’s find a place to rest.”

They make their way across the frozen hillside towards the woods and the valley beyond, their footsteps crunching in the crisp dusting of snow, gentle flurries of icy flakes swirling around them in the breeze. Emma’s grateful for her thick sweater, hat, and gloves.

“How are you not cold?” she asks curiously, glancing at his perpetually open shirt.

He’s about to make some quip about being devilishly hot and handsome, but he can’t quite find it in him, so he answers honestly instead.

“Actually, I’m bloody freezing, love. You?”

“I’ve been warmer,” she replies, “but I’m okay.” He squeezes her hand gently and she returns the pressure, offering him at least the little bit of extra warmth her gloved hand can bring.

They continue on in comfortable silence until they reach the woods and start to dip down into the valley. The sun is low in the sky, and the mountains are tinged with flame. Emma is filled with longing for a peace she has never really known, and wonders if one day she’ll be able to enjoy a sunset without having to worry about finding somewhere to sleep or something to eat or keeping people safe, but that day is not today.

Maybe one day…

They find a place to camp among the shelter of the trees, a little way back from the river, and Emma starts to collect some wood. She silently thanks Regina for teaching her to use magic to light a fire. It will be a cold night. Hook finds some fallen pine branches and uses them to construct a rudimentary shelter. It’s not much, but it will keep the snow off. It surprises them both how quickly and comfortably they’ve fallen into this routine.

“I’ll see if I can find some berries.” she says.

“I’ll try and catch a fish before the light goes.” He fashions a spear from his sword by tying a slim branch of pine to the handle, using his teeth to tie off the knot, and heads off towards the water.

 

* * *

 

 

Emma is so focused on searching for berries, that it’s almost dark before she realises Hook hasn’t returned from the river. A spark of concern flares up in her throat and she hurries down to the river to look for him.

She follows his footprints in the snow along the bank of the river, and finds a spot where it looks like he stopped to fish, a few spots of blood standing out scarlet against the snow. His footprints continue upstream, and with mounting concern, she follows them up to a large pool. She spies his sword propped against a rock, a salmon speared on the end of the blade, the source of the blood, she hopes. Then she notices his clothes atop another rock. She swallows down a momentary flutter of panic, as her gaze takes in how neatly his leather coat and pants have been folded. His hook and the contraption that holds it in place, placed carefully above his vest and shirt. She lets out a breath of relief, smiling to herself as she realises he’s gone to bathe, his boots beside the water’s edge.

She can’t see him through the mist above the pool, and is about to turn away and walk back towards the camp, leaving him some privacy, when something occurs to her. Who would want to linger in such icy water, unless… Emma’s eyes widen in comprehension. It isn’t mist – it’s steam! She bends down to dip a finger in the water, and it’s really warm, a hot spring! She lets out a little laugh of delight, and Hook calls out across the water, his voice a little tight.

“Swan? Is that you?”

“Hey!” she calls back “Is that water as nice as it looks?”

“Yes,” he laughs, “Sorry, I tarried longer than I meant to. If you wouldn’t mind turning your back, Emma, I’ll get out.”

“No, no.” says Emma, already stripping to her underwear, and tossing her clothes aside hurriedly, “stay where you are, I’m coming in!”

“Uhm, Emma…” he starts nervously, but he can hear her delighted sigh as she wades into the warm water, and realises there’s no way out, “I don’t wish to alarm you, lass, but I’m naked.”

Either Emma doesn’t hear him, or she doesn’t care. The water is as warm as a bath, and as she dips beneath the surface she can feel the tension and exhaustion slowly seeping out of her. She closes her eyes and floats on her back, revelling in the warmth of the water easing her aching muscles. She sighs contentedly, remembering what her father told her about finding the moments. _This_ , she thinks, is one of those moments. She floats lazily around the pool, her arms waving gently beneath her as she turns in wide, slow circles.

As she drifts towards Hook, he watches mesmerised as Emma’s lithe form appears through the steam. The sun has dipped below the horizon, but the moon is rising and the silvery light dances across the surface of the water and makes her skin glow, her floating form as graceful and white as a swan.

He’s never seen her so completely relaxed, and is so captivated by the contented expression on her face, it doesn’t register that she's wearing only her undergarments until she almost drifts into him. He steps aside so they don’t collide, but he can’t take his eyes off her. He swallows, hard, and the sound causes Emma to open her eyes.

For the longest moment they just stare at each other. Emma still floating, her hair spread out around her like a halo, and Hook standing, the water up to his chest, water dripping down his neck and chest from his tousled mop of wet hair.

Emma lets her legs drop beneath her so she’s standing near him, just out of reach. “Can you swim?” she asks gently, her voice soft as a whisper, glancing towards his left arm.

He nods. “Not in a straight line, but yes.” He’s not sure he can breathe though, not with Emma this close, and looking more beautiful than anything he’s ever seen. He can barely speak.

“I forget sometimes.” she murmurs, and he looks at her quizzically. “About you not having a hand.” she clarifies, “It doesn’t seem to stop you doing anything.”

“It did.” he says quietly, with just a trace of bitterness. “Once. But I’ve had three hundred years practice at doing things one-handed.”

She shakes her head slightly, as though to clear it, still unable to grasp that Hook is more than three hundred years old. He doesn’t look it, he doesn’t act it. There are times when he throws himself at a challenge with all the enthusiasm of her 12 year old son.

She looks up again and somehow they’ve edged closer to each other. She watches as a drop of water winds its way down his neck, coming to rest for a moment on his collar bone, continuing down his chest and disappearing into the tangle of dark hair there. Her eyes want to follow it further but the surface of the water prevents her. With a start, she remembers that he’s naked.

She can feel the flush in her cheeks, and braces herself for the smart remark that's sure to come, but Hook says nothing. Not even a smirk. He’s not playing that game – this stopped being a game to him long ago. He wants desperately to touch her: to reach out and push the wet strand of hair away from her face; to lean forward and kiss her, but he dare not move and break this fragile connection. So he just watches as she takes a deep breath and tries to compose herself.

Finally she looks up and holds his gaze.

Time seems to slow down, and Hook can feel his heart hammering in his chest. He wills himself not to move, to let her control this.

Emma is completely still. Everything about this place, this moment, this feeling, is beautiful. The warmth of the water, the steam rising off the surface of the pool, glowing in the silver light of the moon, the way Hook is looking at her, so hopeful, waiting. She’s tired of running. She wants to capture this moment in a bottle and hold on to it. Be able to take the stopper out and pour it into a pensieve and immerse herself in this memory to remind herself that there are moments of peace, moments of magic, worth living for between the fights. She doesn’t know if that kind of magic is possible, or just something she read about, once upon a time. The lines are so blurred now, it’s impossible to know what’s real and what isn’t anymore. Except this. This is real. He is real.

She takes a deep breath and reaches out to him, her fingertips ghosting over Hook’s face, her touch light as a whisper against his skin. He closes his eyes and leans into her touch with a sigh, his lips brushing her hand. Slowly, she traces the path of the drop of water with hesitant fingers, his skin tingling at her touch, her hand coming to rest lightly over his heart.

“Mine.” she whispers, letting out the breath she didn’t realise she was holding.

“Yours.” he agrees.

She looks up at him, with a smile and a promise in her eyes, and once again he feels like his heart is leaving his chest, but this time he's offering it willingly.

When she kisses him, it’s nothing like Neverland. It’s soft, searching, gentle, a caress, a promise. Her hands cupping his face, he finally lets his fingers reach out to push back that strand of hair.

His left arm curls around her waist, drawing her closer (but not too close, not yet) and her wet skin is like silk. He has never touched another person with his stump, not in all those years, and the feel of touching another person is strange and exhilarating, almost more intimate than kissing her.

For long moments they stand there, their bodies not quite touching, eyes open and searching, in between soft kisses and caresses, Hook trying desperately to hang on to some self-restraint. Then Emma wraps her arms around him and pulls him closer, deepening the kiss as she presses against him, thrilling at the feeling of him stirring against her.

He can’t even remember how long it’s been. The pirate in him wants to claim her and be damned, but he forces himself to break the kiss and pushes her back long enough to catch their breath. She looks up at him, confused.

“Emma…” he manages, unable to form a coherent thought, “Emma…?”

Her confusion changes to understanding. _I’m always a gentleman_.

Not always, he knows, but there’s no other way he’s going to let this happen.

She looks up again, her hazel eyes meeting his blue ones, cloudy with desire, and she wants to lose herself in them, dive deep into the liquid blue and not resurface until she has to. His eyes are like the ocean, sometimes dark and stormy, sometimes deep and calm, ever changing, elemental. Hook is like water. You can dam it, you can divert it, but water is patient, water is persistent, water will always find a way through, a way around, slowly eroding the barriers that try to keep it out.

He can’t follow her thoughts, but when she leans in to kiss him again, he closes his eyes and stops holding back, letting the desire flood through him as he pulls her to him, pressing her flush against him, revelling in the feel of her wet skin against his. Emma’s fingers tug on his hair and she opens her mouth to his.

She feels him stirring back to life against her, and feels the irresistible pull of the tide, dragging her in like a whirlpool, like the portal to Neverland, and she lets herself go with the flow, exhilarated by the freedom of being carried along with it.

She longs for more friction but his skin is slick from the warm water and the steam. She feels his hand exploring her body, lingering over the wet cotton of her bra, his thumb caressing her nipple. She moans in encouragement, turning her attention to his neck, kissing and suckling her way down to his collar bone and then back up to his mouth. Open mouthed kisses, searching and hungry.

Somehow they’ve found their way to a partially submerged log, and Hook backs her up against it, pressing himself against her. She can feel his arousal and it fuels her own. She pulls him close, craving contact, trying to inhale him, while her hands explore his back, his neck, his arms, his shoulders, searching out the scars of his long years with her fingertips, tracing them, mapping them, committing him to memory.

He shivers beneath her touch, the caress of her fingers making his skin tingle. He sucks lightly on one nipple through the fabric of her bra while his hand caresses the other and he feels her shudder and let out an involuntary sigh of pleasure. Impatiently she wriggles out of her bra and frees her breasts to his sight and his touch. He stares at her for a moment, eyes full of longing, then she smiles, and he smiles, and her hands are back in his hair, pulling him closer.

He hums in appreciation as he sucks her nipple into his mouth and flicks his tongue over it. She moans in pleasure, leaning back against the log. She feels breathless and giddy, wanting to speed things up and slow things down at the same time. She’s not in control, and for once, she doesn’t care. _Try something new, it’s called trust_. She yanks him up so she can kiss him again, a long, deep, urgent kiss, and his hand leaves her breast and dips down between her legs. She shudders at the contact, nipping at his lip, eyes fluttering open as his finger rubs her just so, and he breaks the kiss to lift her up on the log, his left arm supporting her back. Never breaking eye contact, she wraps her legs around his hips, and he lines himself up, the tip of his erection pressing into her folds, and then he stops, running his hand down her body from her neck to her breasts and between her legs again, making her gasp at his touch.

She’s more beautiful than a siren, her skin glowing silver in the moonlight, her hair clinging to her shoulders and fanning out in the water behind her like liquid gold. He wants to make this moment last forever, but he can’t resist her siren’s call much longer.

The last thing she thinks as he starts to push into her, is how beautiful he is. The way the moonlight dances off the water on his skin, little droplets of light in his dark hair, the desire on his face that’s all for her. Then she stops thinking and just lets herself feel as he starts to move inside her.

 

* * *

 

 

Afterwards, they float on their backs in happy silence, looking up at the moon and the stars on the edges of the horizon, twinkling and shimmering through the steam rising off the water. A cloud drifts across the moon, and a small flurry of snow drifts down from the sky, evaporating in the steam above them. They watch, mesmerised, as the snowflakes melt in mid-air, marvelling at the extraordinary sensation of being warm and naked even though it’s snowing.

Still floating, they try to kiss, but sink below the water, coming up laughing and spluttering, pushing the wet hair out of each other’s faces, like a couple of teenagers. They kiss while treading water, but it’s hard for Hook with one hand, so they drift back towards shallow water and finds themselves back at the log and making love again.

 

* * *

 

 

Only when they’re so hungry they can’t put it off any longer, do they reluctantly leave the pool, hurriedly pulling on their clothes in the cold night air, Emma helping Hook to fasten his vest, which is hard to do without first attaching his hook, and it’s too cold for that now. As they pick their way back through the snow towards the comforting glow of the camp fire, Hook talks about the stars, apologising for not knowing the constellations here, and she remembers that they’re in Oz, looking for Glinda, the Good Witch of the North, which explains the snow and mountains, and why they’re not being attacked by those wretched flying monkeys. This is her territory, not Zelena’s.

 

* * *

 

 

_Up on the hill above the pool, Glinda smiles to herself. She’s been discretely watching Emma and Hook all evening. Perhaps not always as discretely as she should: she’s been alone a long time, and the man is beautiful. Alas, completely in love with the girl, but still. She senses a sadness in both of them, particularly the girl, but there’s determination too, or they wouldn’t have made it this far. Many know about the Fields of Forgetfulness, and the deep slumber brought about by the poppies that grow there, but few ever find their way across the Plains of Desolation to the Pool of Contentment, which only reveals itself to those who truly deserve it._

_Glinda sighs. She doesn’t yet know if she’s going to help them. The pool has shown her that they deserve it, but she knows that helping them will undoubtedly mean fighting her sister, and shattering the fragile peace she’s enjoyed in recent years. She turns away, but not before a gentle flick of her wand in their direction. The least she can do is cast a protection spell over them to keep them safe till morning, until she’s decided what she’s going to do._

 

* * *

 

 

Later that night, after feasting on fish and berries, and rebuilding the fire to keep it burning all night, Hook and Emma curl up together under their makeshift shelter, Emma propped up against shoulder with her arms around his waist, and his left arm wrapped round her, his hook and its harness still in his satchel. Emma yawns, and they shift so that she’s lying with her head on his left arm and one leg thrown over his, his right hand stroking her hair until she falls asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

At some point in the night, Emma unconsciously tries to wriggle out of his arms, perhaps a habit from years of being careful to leave her lovers before dawn, waking him.

“No.” he says softly, a breath against her neck, his arms tightening around her, pulling her closer. She stiffens slightly, and for a moment he’s not sure if she’s awake or asleep, but then she relaxes again, her fingers interlacing with his and bringing his hand to rest over her heart.

Hook smiles.

Even if he has to keep letting Emma choose him (or not) one day at a time, he’ll always have this.

And that’s enough.

For now.

**Author's Note:**

> I’ve been struggling with this piece for weeks. I knew where I wanted to go with the feel and mood of the story, but I always find it hard to write a scene involving intercourse, and I wanted this to be about much more than sex. Words don’t capture the feelings and sensations of intimacy, and I really wanted to write that moment where Emma accepts Hook and her feelings for him, because I don’t think the writers of OUAT are going to go there anytime soon, not when there’s so much delicious tension to explore! Even in fan fiction, we tend to either write fluff or friction, humour or angst ( myself included), but ever since that conversation between Emma and her father about finding the moment, I wanted to try and write a piece about Hook and Emma finding their moment. 
> 
> Then, with that heartbreaking mid-season finale, I almost wanted it to end – for Emma to have found her happy ending with her son, for her future to be as real (and as NOT miserable!) as Regina promised. I almost (only almost) wish the show had ended there, without Hook showing up at her door, because I wanted Emma to find peace and not have to keep fighting. But it didn’t. Then I saw the spoiler pic of them walking across a snowy field, and this idea came to me, loosely based on a couple of moments I shared with two very different men. The kind of moments you hold on to, long after everything else has faded, and I wanted to try and create that moment for Emma with Hook, and give them a little bit of magic amongst the chaos that will inevitably engulf them. 
> 
> So, here it is. I’m not sure my words do my idea justice. I’m afraid it might come across as more fluffy than I intended, but I wanted to post it before the show returns.
> 
> Here are the songs I was listening to while writing: “Wait”, “Good enough”, “Fumbling towards ecstasy” (Emma finding peace in the pool) “Possession” (Hook’s feelings), “Elsewhere”, “Witness”, and “Angel” (togetherness, after, and Glinda’s feelings as she watches them). Turn out the lights, turn up the volume, and listen to the last one in the dark! (There may also have been a little “Fear” for Emma before arriving at this moment as well, if you can bear the desolation).


End file.
